Malachi
by skabs
Summary: Xavier left behind a list. It is now the Xmen's responsibility to find these mutants and protect them. They don't know why, but they do it anyway. Canon from movie-verse, bits of comic-verse used. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

I do not own X-men, they belong to the lovely people at Marvel Comics... I do, however, own Malachi, and any other original characters. Author notes to follow as they are a bit long-winded. Enjoy.

* * *

They watched him from across the street, as he turned the corner and disappeared into the subway station, and looked at each other with equally puzzled glares. The taller of the two dropped his gaze first, though the shorter one looked away quickly after that to watch the now empty stairs with frustration.

"I don't get it kid," he growled as they started across the street to follow him down. "What's so special about this one?"

"I don't know, all I know was that his name was on the file with a big red star and a note to be cautious when approaching. The Professor didn't get any farther than that and a few newspaper clippings, but he is on the priority list."

"What the hell was Chuck thinking? He looks like a random high school kid."

"So do I," Bobby sighed as his partner glared at him. He shrugged in response. "It's not like we all come with big neon signs Logan."

Logan scratched his nose to hide his smile; it wouldn't do to let the kid know that he had a sense of humor, not at this late date. And it was true; Bobby looked like an all-American teenager. He'd shot up about five inches in the past three months since the Alcatraz incident, something Logan still wasn't used to. Blond, curly hair cut short but stylishly, his blue eyes intelligent and compassionate; he looked like he'd jumped out of a boy-band poster, complete with that, "I'm a nice guy, trust me," grin of his. Dressed in a button down blue shirt and light jeans, white sneakers and a clean face, he was inconspicuous, in a completely different way from Logan.

Dirty and ripped up dark jeans, a white wife-beater and jean jacket that had taken him through many brawls, he looked like the back room of a bar. His sturdy knuckles and unshaved face, complete with unruly and spiked up hair, made him one of those men mothers warned their daughters about, especially after looking into his eyes. If eyes really were windows to the soul, his were a little grimy and chipped; yet still somehow clear enough to see through.

He grunted impatiently, introspection on how they were the new century's odd couple, not being high on his list of favorite things to do.

"Let's get going, Frosty."

"Logan… how many times," Bobby sighed as he followed his mentor down the subway stairs. He hated that knick-name. And what was worse, many of the new kids at the school were starting to follow the man's example. He didn't want to get stuck with the distressing misnomer. He stopped complaining when the man looked over his shoulder and glared. Merely gesturing for him to keep going, they made it down into the station and paid for tickets before following the kids scent through the terminal.

Logan paused and turned a corner, sniffing carefully as he went. A light bulb had exploded down near the end of the waiting area; a train behind them swept through the terminal and kept going without stopping. In front of them another train shut its doors and began to pull away.

"Logan, he had to have been on that train!" Bobby complained, "Now we'll have to find him again."

"No," Logan sniffed, "he's still here."

"Neat trick, that," a smooth voice echoed through the concrete hallway. A clang echoed off the floor as a metal rod poked out from the last pillar in the row, glinting with the pale light from the bulbs that hadn't broken. The kid was all in shadow, except for the hand which clutched the steel. Bobby watched as the boy stood absolutely still, sizing them up. "I can't help but wonder why you've been following me." The smooth voice came as if from the darkness, it seemed to swallow the air around Bobby's head, and if the snort of irritation from Logan was any indication, he'd been affected as well.

"We just have a few questions, maybe an offer for you," Bobby took a step forward but stopped when the rod left the floor and jutted out toward him.

"No closer, I don't know you, and I don't feel like shaking hands."

"All right, care to talk?"

"Say what you want, I'll listen."

"You're a mutant."

"I know, and since you haven't tried to kill me yet, I'll assume you are as well," The boy sighed," look, I'm not interested in joining any groups. I don't want to fight in "the great war for mutant rights", I'm a pacifist."

Logan snorted in disbelief. "Right, I'll believe that when The Statue of Liberty begins to do the hula."

"I don't fight for anything other than my own freedom, then, does that satisfy you?"

"That's fine kid, but that's not what we're here for, listen up."

"You're in danger," Bobby shot Logan a glare. They had to explain, not annoy the guy.

"I'm always in danger," he snarled, "if that's all you had to tell me then bugger off."

"We can take you to a safe place; you could be with others, learning how to control your powers…"

"I can control them just fine."

"You've been lucky so far, that none of your mistakes have killed anybody," Logan corrected. "But you've been mentioned in a couple of papers," great missing chunks of buildings, disappearing acts from police cuffs stretched out, yet still intact.

"Well, you know what they say. "Luck can't last a lifetime, unless you die young." I really don't see a bright and happy family with a picket fence in my future."

"No, but if you come with us…" Bobby began, and ended when the pole poked his neck. The boy hadn't moved from his spot, but the pole was suddenly longer.

"You won't be in danger; you'll live in a place where you don't have to watch your back every moment. You'll get good food, a roof over your head, you'll have people to look out for you, a good start on life," Logan paused when the chuckling began.

"Dreams are like rainbows, you know?" he stepped into the light and glared at Logan with all the intensity his young eyes could conjure. Seeing as how one eye was solid white, and the other with a blood shot purple pupil, it was a bit disconcerting to see such a patronizing gaze in one who should still be innocent.

"How so?" he asked, interested despite himself.

"Only idiots chase them," he scoffed. "Sounds like a great place. What's the catch?"

Bobby studied the boy carefully, noticing now in the shadowy hallway how his skin was pale and stained in patches and streaks, as if someone had used a red marker to color him, and failed to completely wash away the dye. His hair was orange at the roots, lifting up to a pale yellow at the tips of his spikes, as if it had been set aflame. He wore a strand of large silver beads, like a choker, around his neck and an enameled maroon cuff on his left arm. He was somewhere between their heights, but skinny with it. A large blue/green t-shirt hung over his boney frame, and large brown cargo pants extended to almost cover his feet, but his toes tucked out from under them; so either he was bare-foot, or he was wearing sandals. In one hand, outstretched, was the steel rod, and in the other a wooden one.

"The catch, kid, is that you don't hurt anyone while you're there. You have a curfew, and you have to do chores. You do your school work and you don't get into trouble," Logan crossed his arms. He was getting a bit moody; he didn't like how the kid was still threatening Bobby with his stick. But he didn't want to do anything to scare the kid off. Charles's notes had been insistent that this kid was in trouble. It was a vague feeling he'd had, but one he'd been sure on. Logan didn't want to let Chuck down, so he made it his problem to get this kid, and all the others on the list Bobby found while they'd been cleaning the Professors old office out.

"And then…?"

"Nothing. Look, we just want you to try it out. It's a safe place, a haven. It wouldn't kill you so cut the attitude."

"Attitudes are contagious. Mine _might_ kill you."

"So like I said, cut it," he'd had enough, but it seemed like Bobby had beaten him to the punch. Apparently the Ice-Man didn't like having the stick in his face anymore. He'd blown out a puff of cold breath and frozen the metal along its side, reaching the kids hand and icing around it and up his arm. When it reached his elbow he started swearing and yanked the pole away from Bobby's influence.

"It's rude to point things in people's faces you know," he pointed out calmly as the kid stuck his wooden rod in his back pocket. He'd reduced it to the size of a pencil, and was obviously frustrated at his failed attempt to do the same to the metal one. Frozen as it was, it didn't seem to be working. Dropping to one knee he placed his free hand on the concrete and glared up at them.

"Shit-heads," using a pulling motion he'd cracked the concrete behind them and tried to _pull_ it out from under them. Logan flipped over the kids head, landing behind him. Bobby just jumped back behind the crack. There was no evidence that there had ever been a floor there. The concrete was smooth on both ends; it was just the fact that a huge chunk of it was missing that told them anything had occurred at all.

He struck back with the frozen metal rod, bouncing it off of Logan's forearm as he raised it to deflect. He couldn't get the metal to react, he'd never tried to manipulate ice before, and it was playing havoc with his reaction time. He'd started shivering from the cold. Pissed, he grabbed the wooden rod from his pocket and twirled it around in his fingers, _pulling_ as it spun. As it extended he struck out, leaving his metal rod as a balance against the floor, he spun it around his head and aimed for Logan's neck. Logan wasn't in the mood to play, and with a quick 'snckt' claws appeared from his clenched fist and cut the pole in half.

"Are you going to listen to me," he asked as the kid stared at the decimated end of his pole with wide eyes, "or do I need to get tough?"

After a moment they met gazes, and the kid seemed to relax slightly as he smirked.

"Name's Malachi, nice to meetcha."

Logan grunted, and noticed for the first time why his eye was bloodshot. It had been difficult to tell with the kid's normal skin discoloration, but it looked like he had a black eye. It was puffy and dark underneath, purple and yellow splotched with green.

"Call me Logan, and the kid over there is Bobby," he nodded in the Iceman's direction and then pointedly looked at the floor. "You can fix this right?"

Malachi smirked, "in my sleep, Spiky."

"Hah!" Bobby laughed from behind the divided concrete, "Spiky! I can't wait to use that!"

"Try it Frosty, just try it!" Logan flicked Bobby off and scowled at his newest menace.

Malachi just looked up with a grin from kneeling on the floor. He placed his hand down and _pushed_ carefully until the divided concrete met ends again. Bobby walked over and placed his hand on Malachi's frozen fist.

"Let me," he muttered when Malachi jerked away. He concentrated and started to reabsorb the ice. He hadn't been able to do that for very long, it was a trick he'd learned after learning how to coat himself in ice. It was either reabsorb the ice, or wait in the sun until the stuff melted off of him. He'd caught a couple of colds, and had to face the ridicule of some of the students before he'd figured out the trick of insulating himself from it as well as just using it. Just because he could make ice, didn't mean he was immune to frost bite. Before long Malachi was freed, and he shrank the metal down, like he'd done with the wood, sticking both poles into his back pocket.

"So, are you going to kidnap me, or do I get a phone call first?"

"We aren't kidnapping you kid. In fact, we like to get parental permission if we can. This is a legitimate boarding school; you'll get a degree and everything." Logan snarled.

"Really? Then why didn't you approach my parental units first?" Malachi asked, then grinned ruefully, "because I didn't let you follow me, huh?"

"We didn't know where you lived, didn't even know your name," Bobby shrugged. "It's hard to talk to your parents if we don't know who they are."

"Well, that's all right, anyway, don't have folks anymore. At least, none that admit they have a son."

"I'm sorry." Bobby sighed; he knew what that feeling was like. His parents were still alive, but when he'd tried to contact them, to apologize and explain, they'd hung up the phone. He didn't have parents anymore either.

"Sucks to be them then," Logan grumbled, unimpressed. All he wanted to do was light his cigar and get back to the school. He got nervous about things attacking when he wasn't there. Rogue was still having weird reactions, she needed him. He grunted in his head, not at all amused to be feeling that protective about anything, he still wasn't convinced that he was good for the school, but there was nobody else who could teach those kids the dirty tricks that their enemy's would use on them. "So who you gonna call?"

"Ghostbusters?" Bobby asked with a grin; then shrugged when the other two stared at him blankly. "Come on, you were thinking it!"

"Just a friend of mine."

"Then lets get going," Logan ignored the no smoking signs and lit his cigar as another train rolled into the station.

"Logan, you can't smoke on the train," Bobby reminded him as they all got on. There were two more people on their portion of train sitting next to each other. One was scruffy and had several band-aids wrapped around nicks and cuts, his knuckles ripped as evidence of a recent fight. He was wearing large skater jeans freckled with different colors of paint and a dirty and ripped t-shirt, but his shoes where shiny and white obviously cared for. The other sat in a smart business suit and million dollar haircut, his glasses thin and fashionable as he completed the New Yorker crossword. Other than that they looked like they could be twins with pale blond hair and lanky builds. As they looked up in unison and studied with pearly blue eyes, Bobby realized they were twins.

"We don't mind," the scruffy one said, running his hand through spiky hair, messing it up even more. The other rolled his eyes and returned to his newspaper. Logan looked smug as he patted Bobby's shoulder.

"See Frosty, they don't mind."

"Whatever," Bobby threw up his hands in exasperation. "I don't know why I try anymore, really I don't."

"Neither do I," Logan smirked as he puffed away.

When they got off the train Malachi warned them to follow him carefully. Heading deeper into the terminal they came to a brick wall. Malachi placed his hands on the wall and pulled it aside, like he'd done with the concrete floor. Stepping inside he told them to keep to the left, and closed the wall when they'd joined him. He balanced carefully and brushed past them, once again telling them to follow his moves exactly.

"One wrong step and you'll fall a couple dozen feet. We're on a blocked off section of the old subway system, there's lots of crumbling areas around here."

"You live down here?" Bobby asked incredulously.

"You ever seen Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?"

"Of course."

"Yep, just like that, only a lot harder to get to. They closed off these areas pretty well. It took me a while to secure a regular route for the others. This is my way in."

"So you're not taking us the easy way," Logan mused. "Pretty smart."

"If Howl doesn't like you I don't want to give you easy access to us later on. We worked hard for our place; it won't be ruined because of me."

"Howl?"

"My leader, caretaker, teacher," he shrugged as he skipped over a crumbling piece of brick work. "My whatever." After a few minutes of avoiding pits and traps, balancing on thin beams of steel and jumping over cracks as long as Sabertooth was high; they finally reached a beam of light in front of a smooth wooden door. Malachi paused, tilted his head as if listening for something, and knocked twice.

"Whom may I ask is calling?" asked a cultured British accent from behind the door.

"Malachi, plus two," Malachi replied in the same snooty tone of voice.

"Your guests have not a prior invitation good sir," now it seemed somewhat peeved.

"I've granted leave to call on Howl," he explained. "As per part nine of the contract of…" Malachi sighed and banged on the door with his fist. "Just let me in you idiot."

Logan smothered a chuckle as he heard a metal lock being turned and the door squeaked open.

"Pretentious git." The small girl on the inside sneered.

"The downside of being better than everyone else is that people tend to assume you're pretentious," Malachi replied, as if this were something he said a lot, or maybe it had been a code phrase. She huffed but she stepped aside, letting them all into the hallway, staring at Bobby and Logan with suspicious eyes. She couldn't have been more than twelve years old, her red hair braided down her back, green eyes bright with contempt. She was skinny, like Malachi, but well muscled. She twirled around with a dancers grace and a child's impertinence, her dark red tank dress skirt flaring about her legs, and led the way down the hall. Malachi managed to warn the others to lean against the wall as she turned around and stamped a booted foot. A roll of concrete flooring carried down the hall, slamming the door shut and dropping the metal lock back into place.

"Warn a guy next time, eh?" he snarled at her. She merely smirked and twirled back around. "You were meant for me Elie… perhaps as a punishment." He muttered under his breath. She paused slightly, but sauntered on as if she hadn't heard him.

She lead them into a larger room, the ceiling high overhead, her voice echoed as she addressed the one sitting at the end of a long table.

"Howl? Malachi has guests," she kissed the fair cheek and continued out the door behind the table, leaving the four of them alone.

The one Elie called Howl was sitting, stringing beads from a porcelain plate onto a long piece of wire. It looked random, which beads were picked up from the mess of colors, and the wire stretched out behind and into the room Elie had exited into. The glass beads glittered in the strong overhead light as they stepped closer.

Howl did not look up from the beads, blue/black hair shimmered in the light, and the slightly fuzzy skin stood out with darker stripes adorning high cheekbones. Logan sniffed the air, but couldn't put a gender to Howl. Delicate fingers, square jaw, a lithe and sexless body all served to confuse. Howl just chuckled at his puzzled glare and continued beading.

"Call me Ma'am Howl, sir, if it helps," like Elie her voice was accented British, and like Malachi's it seemed to fill the room and enveloped their heads. She strung a blue bead and knotted the end, dropping the line quickly as it was tugged out of her hands and into the back room. A squeal of delight echoed out as Malachi stepped into the doorway and laughed at whoever was on the other side. He shushed them and closed the door.

"Ma, this is Logan and Bobby," he indicated with a sweep of his hand as he stood behind Howl's high-backed chair. For a moment Logan was strongly reminded of a Renaissance painting Chuck had shown him on a field trip with the kids to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Malachi was Howl's Knight.

"Ma'am Howl," Logan inclined his head as Bobby smiled gently.

"Ma'am."

"You will tell me why you brought these men, strangers, to our home," her interest clear. She was not angry with Malachi for bringing them, but it had been a subtle rebuke.

"They want me to go with them," he explained, more than a little hesitant. She could tell that he was intrigued, but she was not going to let him go and get himself killed. More was needed, knowledge, for safety.

"You two would take my Malachi," she sniffed contemptuously. "Many have tried, though you would be the first to ask permission."

"They want to take me to a school," Malachi sneered, but stopped at the sudden interest in his mentor's eyes.

"School? Xavier's school?" her voice was smooth, but insistent.

"Yes." Bobby answered simply.

"I'd heard many grave happenings," Howl took up a piece of wire and began beading again.

"We're still open. The school is still a safe place, a haven. You and your kids would be safe there," Logan growled, defensive.

"I would not be going, nor would my little's," Howl arched an eyebrow. "But my Malachi is growing up, growing away." Howl began weaving several pre-beaded strands together, the glass flashing brilliantly in the light. "He needs to learn to be one, without the pack, to be himself. He is my warrior, my first. We saved each other, we've saved others. My little's are not ready, but my Malachi is. He will accompany you, and if his growing is positive I will send the others when the time comes."

"Ma!" Malachi protested, but stopped when Howl finished her braiding and seized his wrist.

"Now is a time for growth my not-so-little one. You cannot stay, trapped in the rabbit hole forever like me," she hooked the beads around his wrist and let go. "Take my love, caring, protection. Come home stronger, and willing to teach the little's what I cannot. Be safe, and honorable." Malachi let out a breath of frustration, but nodded in response.

"Yes Ma," he leaned over to kiss a fuzzy cheek.

"Say goodbye to the little's," she patted his cheek and let him leave through the back door, then returned to glare at Logan. "I've heard many positive things from the Vagnuer. Do not make him out to be a liar Wolf. I hold thee responsible for my young."

"I shoulder the responsibility of many." Logan replied formally, sensing her tension easily.

"This one is mine. Not from my body, but of my heart. A piece of my heart travels with you. If it breaks I will not ask questions before ripping yours from your chest. Understood?"

"Perfectly." Logan was impressed. The lady's hissed warning had left his arm hair raised, and Bobby had audibly gulped.

"Good."

Elie returned from the backroom, glared at Logan and Bobby, and exited through an open archway to her left. She came back in a few minutes later with a tea set and several mugs.

"Sit, have some tea while you wait," Howl beckoned, and then turned her gaze to the red-head.

"I know Howl, I know he has to go," she turned the mugs over while the two sat, poured the tea and set the filled mugs in front of them. "But I don't have to like it." She sat with a huff and took her own mug, blowing gently to cool the hot liquid. "He's the eldest; I knew he'd leave, like the tallest blade of grass." She refused to meet her leader's eyes. "He is the first to be cut down under the mowers blade."

"You always take my lessons to their worst conclusion Elie, darling," Howl leaned over and rested her chin on her hand, eyes bright in amusement. "If I told you there is no greater joy than soaring high on the wings of your dreams, what would you tell me?"

"That there is no greater joy," she agreed equably. "Except maybe the joy of watching a dreamer who has nowhere to land but in the great ocean of reality," she smirked as she took another sip of tea. Logan couldn't hide his chuckle; Bobby looked too stunned by the pessimism to even form a complete thought of protest.

"Ah, little one, you've impressed our guests," Howl picked up her own mug and took a sip. "I'm impressed that your tea no longer reflects your tainted opinions. Rather well balanced mint. You improve daily."

"Thank you, it is difficult to keep it growing down here."

"You grow plants down here?" Bobby asked, interested despite his unease of the girl.

"I have UV lights. I manipulate earth forces, so it is a bit easier for me than I suspect for many who might try the same." She answered; matter of fact. Turning toward the back door as it opened they watched Malachi step through with a duffel bag slung across his shoulder and a large grin that slowly faded to a blank mask as he shut the door behind him. He now wore a brown camo jacket, and had a thick silver ring on his right index finger. At Elie's lifted eyebrow he looked down at the ring and shrugged.

"Mackie insisted," and Elie got to her feet with a nod. She walked up to him and let him grab her into a long hug, lifting her off the ground as she wrapped her arms slowly around his neck. Cheek to cheek they whispered to each other before he let her gently back to the ground. She kissed his cheek before going into the back room and closing the door with a definite thump.

"Malachi," Howl intoned. He stepped over to her, laid his duffel down carefully and knelt in front of her chair, a supplicant about to be given his boon. She laid a hand on his shoulder and kissed his forehead. "Be well child."

"As well as ever," he replied with a puckish grin. Standing up he leaned down to kiss her cheek and picked his duffel up again.

"Lead them out the easy way. It's a miracle they didn't fall coming in the way they did," she chided.

"Yes'm."

"And don't show off."

"Yes'm," he nodded again as he lead the others down the hall.

"And remember!"

"Of course! "All we ask is that you give us your heart!" I know! I know!" he laughed manically as hers echoed his, and opening the front door for the others he turned back briefly for one last look. Howl sat, laughing at her table, Elie stood in the open back doorway, her special glare only for him. And with a purely mental sigh, he closed the door behind him.

* * *

Colossus sat on a swirling chair, spinning round and round as his teacher leaned against the glass and watched the shaking girl in the room below. Rogue screamed at them, shouting in so many different voices that it was difficult to determine just when it was her actually speaking, and not one of the dozens of personality's she'd absorbed. The swearing that escaped her mouth when she was flashing on Logan was more than a little intense. They shared shifts, watching over her, making sure the mutations she had no control over did no damage to her delicate frame. Luckily when the bone claws shot out of her hand the transition lasted long enough for the healing factor to activate. She could have bled to death very easily. As he watched, his face a mask of calm, Rogue shot several icicles from her fingertips, up toward the thick glass separating them.

Storm sighed, her hand now on his shoulder as she leaned over to tap the intercom system on the control panel.

"Marie?"

"You wish." She hissed.

"Rogue," Storm corrected herself, "How are you feeling?"

"How do you think I'm feeling?" Rogue shot back, irritated beyond a mere telling. She thought it'd all been worked out. She went to New York, got that stupid cure, and was great for two entire months. She'd been better than great; she was able to touch people again. She could hug Kitty without fearing that a touch of her cheek would kill the younger girl, she could kiss Bobby and hold his hand without turning herself into a Popsicle by mistake. Then, with no warning, a metal pop can flung itself toward her hand. She had barely a moment to duck and scream at everyone to leave before a major magnetic sweep had flung all the knives in the kitchen straight toward her head. Then it stopped, and the new kid, the one they said the cure had been made from, had her in his arms.

Leech, or Jimmy if you preferred, hadn't left her side for two hours while they set the quarantine room up. She insisted he leave so that she could find out what was going on, but he returned every once in a while just to give her a break. She could hear dozens of voices in her head at the same time. Powers shot from her and bounced around the bare room as personalities clashed and battled. She was thankful she'd never touched the professor, or Jean. She wasn't sure she could handle that kind of power over others like they'd had. Even through the glass she knew she'd be able to hear Storm's pitying thoughts. She groaned as she started to growl. It seemed like the dominant personality at the moment was Wolverine. She just wanted to find the asshats who promised a cure and rip their spleens out through their throats.

Logan hadn't been down to watch her for a few days, Storm told her that she'd sent him on a mission when she asked. She knew it had to be hard on him; it was hard on her every time they were in the same room. Even now, with this insight being forced on her, she was as uncomfortable with his protective instincts as he was.

She shivered again as the ice wrapped around her and then chipped itself off. She'd touched Bobby the most in the past few months, and apparently that made it so she flashed on his powers more often than Magneto's or Storm's. The first time she electrocuted herself she managed to force the weather pattern in the white walled room more toward sunshine and rainbows by focusing on the calm that Ororo insisted on in her own mind. By trying to Zen her way through that she managed to instill serenity on most of the personalities. She was getting better at the control, but Logan's anger still made her lash out. She wasn't going to trust herself outside of her self-imposed prison until she was in control again. Or at least at the same level of control she had been in, considering her unique powers.

The door swooshed open gently, and Rogue found her mind quieting. Once again Jimmy had come for a visit. She felt his arms wrap around her shoulders and leaned her head back against his chest.

"I'm sorry Rogue," he always apologized.

"It's not your fault Jimmy," she always sighed as she buried herself closer to him. They both enjoyed the contact. Having opposite powers, they couldn't harm each other like they could the others, they'd been semi friends even before Rogue's had gone haywire.

"I feel like it is," he confessed.

"There is no way you could have known the serum wouldn't be permanent."

"No, but I can't help wondering who else this is happening to? I mean, there must be hundreds of mutants who thought themselves "fixed" that are now going insane," he smirked as he hooked her hair behind her ear. "Not that you're insane or anything Rogue."

"Nope, just got multiple personalities in my head, not insane at all, what do you think a psychiatrist would make of me now?"

"If they didn't know about your powers I'm sure you'd be on some lovely medication."

Rogue allowed herself to laugh. No doubt, if she hadn't been accepted into the X-Men fold she'd either be locked in a padded cell and drugged off her ass or dead by now. She wondered, briefly, about what her parents were doing right then, then shook off the question.

"Jimmy?" she asked, hesitant.

"Yeah?"

"Will you tell me about your family?" he stopped petting her hair and laid his cheek against the top of her head.

"My mom likes to pray," he said quietly. "She sings hymns while she cooks and always tells me that with faith and hope all things are possible."

"She sounds nice."

"Yeah, she does. She's not my real mom though. I don't know who that is."

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't be, Annalee was enough mother for us. She lost her own kids, and she always said she found peace caring for us."

"It's amazing isn't it?" Rogue muttered, "What family we can find if we just look for it?"

"Yes, it is," Jimmy agreed, "You are my sister, we found each other without looking, and yet, God provides."

"Thanks Jimmy."

* * *

Storm sighed in relief as Rogue fell asleep in Jimmy's arms. She knew it was bad enough that Rogue had her own nightmares, but she couldn't begin to imagine what everyone else's nightmares contained. She hated that Rogue had seen the depths of her claustrophobia (which was why she was in one of the larger chambers), and she hoped, beyond hope, that it hadn't transferred to the girl herself. Storm could control it, with careful consideration, but Rogue hadn't had the extensive mind healing that the Professor had visited upon her. There had never been a chance.

Who knows what other kinds of phobias or bad memory's had been transferred?

A tapping noise came from the doorway; she looked over and smiled at the young boy.

"Artie, what brings you down here?"

He responded by holding up his hands, toward Storm, and projecting out the image of Wolverine and Bobby, driving up to the gates with a teenager sulking in the backseat of the Chevy Impala Logan had bought just the previous month.

"Thank you Artie, I'll be up in a minute." She smiled at he brushed at her mind. It was not an intrusion, just a delicate nod, as it where.

Piotr grinned as she looked over to him and waved her away.

"Rogue's asleep; she'll maybe get some rest with Leech in there with her, go ahead. I'll let you know if you're needed."

Storm thanked the Russian and left the room, the door whooshing shut behind her.

* * *

Authors Notes

Just for an FYI, I got the idea for this mutation while watching Avatar. I was fascinated by the Earth Benders and how they just opened "doors" whenever they wanted to. Specifically during the episode in which Aang meets Toph and she storms off after he beats her in the arena. So I developed Malachi. Originally I spelled his name Malachai, as a tiny little nod to my favorite beverage (chai tea) but I kept on forgetting, so that's something you can keep an eye out for. Most of my reviewers, I've found, like pointing these things out to me. It's kind of like a scavenger hunt.

Elie, I'm sure you've noticed, I put down as an Earth manipulator. She's the true "Earth Bender" in this, but we don't see much of her for quite a while. I just thought it'd be kind of funny. But no, this is not a crossover. I just liked the concept that he could literally pull a door down in your face if he felt like it.

And to tell you the truth, I don't have a reason for this story yet. I just started to type and in the past year I've gotten twenty-six pages, half of which was what you've just read. (5,894 words) This is for all of you who want long updates because you hate short chapters. I promise I won't post this until the chapters are at least ten pages long, probably update once every 2-3 months.

As for Malachi's appearance. It is odd, I'll grant you that. But it came from a doodle I did. I just started coloring it, a young man with a narrowed glare and baggy clothes, and I messed up the shading on the eye (it was supposed to be light blue, but the pencils I used made it look purple) so the other one stayed white because I got tired of trying to fix the first one, then I used a crayon to color his skin and smeared some of the red marker (not quite dry yet) from the background (I was unusually messy that day). A month later I was thinking about Earth Benders and for some reason I was paging through my sketch book, and there he was. My new mutant. As for the lack of nickname, I just couldn't think of one, so I made Malachi scornful of nicknames. One name should be enough, people shouldn't need to call themselves anything other than what they are. So he'll probably call the Xmen by their codenames, because that is how they see themselves (Pyro anyone?). That is, unless that person confuses them a bit… as you'll see in the next chapter. BTW, if you can identify where the concept of the twins from the subway came from, you get a cookie! (Very obscure, trust me on this)

And just as a side, I was thinking about odd mutant powers and I thought of Meme. A young girl whose powers somehow revolve around any thought or behavior that can be passed by learning or imitation… Meme is a word from the Greek "mimos" or mimic… what do you think? Too difficult, not interesting enough? Has it already been done? (I'm not talking about suddenly growing bone claws (I've already got Rouge doing that right now) that hurts) This little girl would just mimic people. Kind of like when you were a kid and your brother wouldn't stop doing what you were doing. "Stop Copying me!" "Stop Copying ME!!" "MoOoM!!"

And I almost forgot- some of the pessimistic lines from this chapter, and probably the foreseeable future came from a calendar my dads got. Look them up at - Despair – add a www. At the start, and a .com at the end. (Dreams, Trouble, Underachievement, Sacrifice, Pretension, and Delusions… I'm sure that's all of them. But check out the website, awesome gift ideas.)


	2. Chapter 2

**PART 2**

No matter how many times Logan pulled into the driveway, he couldn't get over the fact that the mansion was now his home. He lived in the beautiful sprawling manor, where intricate gardens and peaceful water sculpture stationed at strategic points, warred beautifully with the stoic brickwork. Just a couple of years ago he'd been living in the back of his trailer, dirty shirts and jeans strung up to dry in the cold, beans heated by a hot plate for dinner. He wondered how the kid in the back seat would acclimate to the affluence, in contrast, of the school. He didn't bother looking back; he knew he wouldn't see any indication of the kids feelings on his face. He'd been close lipped and mopey for the past few hours, sunken down in his seat, arms crossed over his chest. He hadn't been rude, he just hadn't been happy.

Bobby, on the other hand, was a motor mouth in comparison. He'd been telling Malachi about classes, students, and danger room sessions. The fight talk had pricked the teen's ears, but he hadn't really responded other than to let Bobby know that he looked forward to it.

Logan pulled up to the front door, his Impala purring softly, and with a slight tinge of regret turned off the motor. He loved his car.

"Logan, you're back," Boom-Boom jumped up from the front steps, where she'd been reading a paperback novel, and laughed maniacally.

"What did you blow up this time?" the girl never spent time alone unless her friends were shunning her for some explosion.

"It was just a tiny explosion," she protested indignant.

"Of…?"

"A cell phone- but it wasn't my fault!" she hurried in her explanation, and as she was chatting with Logan, Malachi let himself out of the car. He studied the fast-talking girl, noting the small sparks that lit off the tips of her nails, her blond spikes, and grunge-wear look. Her nose was crooked, like it had been broken at some point and not set correctly; he found that he liked her better for it. Any girl who didn't immediately fix a broken nose, ie; kept fighting, had his vote.

"Tabitha?" a soft voice interrupted the girls dialogue.

"Yeah, Miss. Munroe?"

"Would you please go help Warren with dinner? He asked for you specifically," Storms eyes flashed, for just a second, white. It was a subtle hint not to do too much carnage. Warren had taken to the institute like a kindly older cousin, not only taking care of the younger students, but egging on the older ones in their various pranks. He was quiet, and polite, and just devious enough to get away with anything.

"Of course, we had a few things to chat about for the physics test tomorrow," Tabitha smirked.

"I'll believe that when pigs do the tango," Storm patted the girls shoulder as they passed each other in the doorway, keeping back a chuckle when the teenager smirked.

"Tango?" Bobby had to ask.

"Thanks to Artie they've already flown."

"Ah, remind me to have him replay that one."

"Yes, but here we are being rude," Storm noted the practiced absent expression on Malachi's face. He watched her carefully, cataloguing the dark skin, the silver/white hair cut stylishly short, and the delicate looking hand she held out as the guys climbed the stairs. "I am Ororo Munroe, welcome to Xavier's Institute for Gifted Students."

"You the boss?"

"I guess you could say that, for the time being," Ororo nodded as she shook his hand. His grip was warm, strong, calming. He found hers commanding and welcoming. He smiled a little bit.

"I'm Malachi, no last name, no nickname, just Malachi."

"All right, Malachi, welcome, if you'll follow me we'll get you set up, talk about classes you may want to take?"

"That sounds fine," he turned to Logan and nodded at Bobby. "I guess I'll see you guys around?"

"Of course," Bobby agreed, and then looked to Storm. "How's Rogue?"

"She's still manifesting at odd moments, she's in the basement cell, if you'd like to see her. When I left Piotr and Jimmy were watching over her."

"I'll just go check," he took off his jacket and hung it in the hall closet, Wolverine stalking behind, not bothering to remove his.

"Follow me, please," Ororo gestured to the left and lead Malachi to a wooden set of doors. Inside was a large office, several chairs stacked by the bookcases on his left along with two plush couches and a large desk. Everything in the room was settled at least five feet apart from everything else; it confused Malachi until he saw the portrait above the fireplace on his right.

A bald man sat in what was obviously a specially designed wheelchair. This had been his office; he was probably the Professor Xavier that Bobby had told him about on the drive up. Bobby hadn't mentioned his handicap.

"Malachi," she started as she walked around the desk. Malachi watched as she pulled some papers from a drawer, but waved him to sit at one of the couches, then joined him. "Once again, welcome to the Institute, now in order to settle you in classes I have to know how much formal schooling you've had, and give you a few placement tests. Those we can do tomorrow, as it really is too late to do them completely right now. But lets get some preliminary's out of the way?" she handed him a stack and kept one for herself. "Those are just legal papers I need you to look over, as I'm not sure exactly what your situation is. If you'll read those tonight we can talk those over tomorrow as well, is that agreeable?"

"Sure, I can tell you though that my folks kicked me out. If you try to get them to take me back, my da'll probably shoot you."

"Well then we'll just send them the emancipation papers through the mail, shall we?" Ororo smirked at him, pleased when he smirked back with the lifting of a fine blond eyebrow.

"So you want to put me in classes then?" Malachi got straight to the point, he didn't like school, he didn't want to go back to it, but if he had to in order to stay then he'd have to. If he didn't try his best not to get kicked out Howl would kill him.

After an exhausting back and forth Ororo figured that Malachi would most likely be suited for most sophomore level courses, he was intelligent and sly with his sarcasm. She had a feeling that most of his barbs would go over 80% of the students heads, and maybe a few of the teachers as well. Trying to figure out whom to room him with was easier than she might have figured as she placed his sense of humor into the equation. She got to her feet and stacked the papers she'd filled out neatly on the desk corner before leaving the room telling him to bring his duffle along.

Malachi hitched his bag over his shoulder and followed the lady out. And she really was a lady, he'd only seen that inherent grace in one other before, and it said she'd been royalty of some sort at one time. But that didn't bother him as much as one odd statement she'd made earlier.

"You said I could ask you questions if I was confused, right?"

Ororo nodded as she walked down the hall, "Yes, questions are always welcome."

"Earlier, what did you mean by basement cell?" Malachi asked as Ororo turned back to him, at the foot of the staircase.

"Normally we'll let the other student reveal their powers to you as they'd like, but I'll let you in on Rouge right now. You'd likely get confused hearing the rumors otherwise," she started up the stairs and waited for Malachi to join her, then continued talking as he followed. "Marie, or Rogue as she likes to be called, can absorb energy through her skin. If she comes in contact with another mutant she takes on their powers for a short time, even their personalities, speech patterns, so on. I assume you've heard about the cure?"

Malachi snorted, "Yeah, for whatever good that's going to do."

"How do you mean?" Storm was curious; she always liked getting feedback from the students, as they often came at problems through angles she'd never considered.

"Well, think about it, I know that being a mutant is a genetic condition right? You can't change DNA, it's not possible. So they've got to be suppressing the symptoms, not the actual cause, right?"

"I wish many more people thought of that before getting the injection," Storm agreed. "But imagine not being able to hug your friends because you'll drain the energy from them and kill them? Not being able to kiss your girlfriend for the same reason. Rogue manifested a few years ago, put her boyfriend into a coma."

"She got the cure."

"And it's worn off. She's been suppressing her powers for so long that they've gotten out of control. They're showing themselves randomly now. And she is going through each power she's ever assimilated. She had us cordon her off until she can gain control."

She was about to explain Leech's effects when a startled scream cut her off.

"Get back here you little geek!"

"No! Nonononononononononono!" a short kid with a long red ponytail trailing behind streaked around the corner, falling briefly to all fours before settling back up and sprinting down the hallway toward them. Following him, quickly and with greater control, was a statuesque blond in jeans and a t-shirt with wet red paint dripping onto the wooden hall floor. She turned the corner like a pro, moving her feet in sharp motions, an ice-skater. Storm reached down at the last second and grabbed the kid's sweatshirt, pulling him up into a hug. He wrapped himself around her, fully aware that no harm could come to him while Storm held him.

"Sally," she nodded regally. The woman skid to a stop in front of them and nodded, short hair brushing past the tip of her aristocratic nose, she pushed it behind her ear irritably. "Malachi, this is Sally Blevins, the biology teacher here."

"Pleased to meet you ma'am," he said, though she didn't look to be quite as old as Storm, she was in her mid-late twenty's and not afraid to go hunting for trouble makers it seemed.

"Icarus, an explanation please, if you don't mind?" Storm asked the boy, perched on her hip. His lips started moving, Malachi could see, but no sound emerged. Then, suddenly, from behind him he heard a voice.

"I can't get my mimicry under control, so I went to Skids to see if she could help me, but I accidentally startled her and she spilled her paint."

"Did you apologize or just run off?"

"I ran," Malachi could read his lips with that one, so the voice that came from above Storm's head was unnecessary.

"Which led to Sally thinking that you were playing a joke on her, did it not?"

The kid blushed, cast his eyes down to the floor and hung his head. "Sorry Skids," he muttered bashfully, the voice was a kiss on the blond's cheek.

"Come on Jay, we'll go work on that lip synching," Sally tutted and held out her hand and let the kid grasp it, swinging him to the floor and walking off, back down the hall way. As they left Malachi noticed the odd contours on the kids back, under the sweatshirt. He looked closer and saw the tips of feathers sticking out under the shirts hem.

"He's got wings," Malachi couldn't stop himself from saying it; he'd never seen that before.

"Yes, and he's not the only one of our students with wings, you'll find at dinner. Now," Storm turned to a door, three down from the stairwell, and knocked on it.

"Oui?" The voice was muffled by the door, but the invitation to enter was clearly heard "Entre." Storm opened the door and Malachi was greeted by the sight of a lanky teenager, lounging with his entire body relaxed completely into one of the double beds. One half of the room, which the older teen was occupying, was strewn with crumbled up pieces of white paper, a notebook laid next to the boy, a pen cap in his mouth, he stared up at the ceiling.

"Remy, would you mind a room mate?" Ororo stood aside from the open doorway so that Remy could see Malachi.

"You won' chatter po' Remy t'deat?" he asked, accent heavy with the flavor of Cajun spice.

"I find that talking uses valuable sleeping time," Malachi returned.

"Den enter of dine own free will," he rolled his red on black eyes back up to the ceiling and spat out the pen cap, sitting up and grabbing the notebook in a fit of inspiration.

He ignored the other two as they entered the room and Storm told Malachi that Remy would bring him down for dinner, or he'd hear the bell if he decided to wander around the school.

"Thank you," he set his duffel on the bed and followed her to the door, shutting it as she left. He turned back around just as Remy grunted in disgust and tore the sheet out of the book. He crumbled it up and tossed it up, catching it and squeezing it again.

"Poetry unit," he explained. "Am nineteen, an adult fo' all intents and purpose, but dey want Remy ta pass high school." The paper ball in his hand glowed for a second, then he tossed it away, watching as it exploded gently into thousands of paper bits. "Am Remy LeBeau," he introduced himself. From the side table in between the two beds he grabbed a deck of cards and started shuffling, holding up the Ace of Spades he smirked, "call me Gambit."

**

* * *

**Not having much to unpack, Malachi decided to take a walk around the building. To his surprise Remy joined him. Remy was lanky, like Malachi, but a good 5 inches taller at least. He'd been amused when the Cajun shook out his boots before putting them on.

"You learn Petite, dis school full 'o trouble makers."

"I'm not short," Malachi had retorted. "I'm still growing."

"Desole." (sorry- French)

"De nada." Malachi shrugged. (don't worry- Spanish)

"You know French?"

"Just enough to get me into trouble."

"I 'tink we get along, cher," Remy smirked, sliding his hands into the pockets of his duster.

"Good to know," Malachi turned around the corner of the building and found himself watching several students playing basketball. As one student multiplied and threw the ball to himself he was struck by a sudden wave of homesickness. He wondered what the little ones were doing, if his Elie missed him. He twisted the ring around his finger and smiled at the soft warmth. At least he always had Mackie with him.

"He always cheats," Gambit chuckled at the students who were protesting the use of powers.

"If you've got it, flaunt it," Malachi challenged.

"Run!" a female voice behind them shrieked as Malachi startled, turned around just in time for a female form to run right through him. He got a faint impression of a ponytail before his vision was crowded by muscle.

"Duck!" A male voice, followed by a very large male, vaulted over them and continued following the girl.

Malachi stood where he was for a few seconds, still trying to comprehend what the hell just happened. Remy was trying not to bust his gut to keep from laughing at his new friend.

"You can ask any question you like, non are stupid roun' here," he managed around a fit of chuckling.

"There are no stupid questions, but there are a lot of inquisitive idiots," just quoting Howl made him feel a lot better.

"Well, dose inquisitive idiots dare'r Kitty and Piotr," Remy sighed as he placed his hand over his heart with a thump, "ah, l'amor."

Malachi just smirked as he watched the guy follow the girl by jumping over anyone she phased through, and then had the pleasure of watching her run straight into a wall. Most of the people watching started clapping as Piotr helped the girl to her feet.

"I forgot to concentrate," she mumbled sheepishly with a faint blush on her cheeks. Piotr just grinned and swung her up into his thick arms as she giggled at him.

"Ok, dat was too sickeningly sweet, let us go 'tis way," Gambit sneered as he turned the corner and lead Malachi into the gardens.

**

* * *

**Malachi was just starting to get used to the grounds when they heard a loud bell ring throughout. Gambit steered him around bushes and flowerbeds, past the headstones that he'd explained were pretty recent and promised to explain later, and ushered him with the other students into a back door. They passed a kitchen, complete with breakfast nook and a recent mess from cooking that hadn't been cleaned yet. The smells that lingered reminded Malachi that he hadn't had much of a lunch, just a hot dog on the sidewalk corner of the Met. He was a growing boy; he rubbed his stomach as it began to growl, and followed Gambit into the dining room. Immediately he recognized Storm, Boom-Boom, Icarus, and Skids. Then he scanned the room and noticed that the tall man next to Boom-Boom, like Icarus, had wings, but short blond hair instead of a red pony tail. The man sitting next to Storm was blue, and had raised scars all over his face and hands (paws?), careful lines that he was sure meant something to the man. Down on the other side of the table was a young girl covered in pale yellow fur, talking to a bulky blue furred man wearing glasses and talking in a low grumble that had an "uppercrust" accent. A small brown haired boy with glasses that almost seemed too big was sitting in between two other younger kids, both pretty normal looking until you realized they were identical.

"Oy, make room, you tink you funny?" Remy knocked the back of one of the chairs with a grin, startling one of the twins into jumping- back into the body of the other. He looked up with a smirk and nodded.

"Yup."

Remy just shook his head and indicated the other empty seat next to the recently vacated one. "Gone to sidown?"

"Sure, thanks," Malachi took the chair as Kitty and Piotr walked in, flushed and connected at the hips.

The chairs around the first table were all taken, and Malachi noticed that there were a lot of younger kids sitting at a second long table against the window, and a few more teenagers in a tight group against the other wall. Large covered metal plates beckoned his attention though, as hands were clutched around the table. Malachi knew that it meant a prayer, since that was how Howl did it, but he was surprised by how short it was. Ororo stood up said she was thankful for each day, each child in her care, thankful for the food and welcomed Malachi to the house, then dropped hands and muttered amen. It was echoed around the tables and then the metal tops were whisked off the plates. Each was piled high with delicious, nutritious food. Large platters of roast beef and potatoes, cooked carrots and broccoli, bowls of fruit salad and large pitchers of milk and water, covered the tables. Malachi helped himself to large portions, just like everyone else was doing, and laughed when Remy had to battle Boom-Boom for the gravy. She sent a tiny spark at him, which he retaliated with a charged, crumpled up napkin. Each explosion was extremely minor, but Storm spoke sharply to them with laughter in her eyes.

"Not at the table," she scolded, but Malachi could tell she was amused.

"Ow bout a match? After desert?" Gambit asked, his head tilted toward Logan, who had just entered the room.

"Downstairs," he scowled, then shrugged. "Why not, could test the whelp at the same time." He helped himself to a clean plate and picked up the small kid with glasses, sitting down in his chair and then settling the kid on his knee before scooping beef and potatoes onto his plate. The kid responded with his hands held out at chin height and an explosion, like fireworks, over his cupped hands.

"Well, yeah, we could blow up the place Artie, that's why we have the danger room!" Boom-Boom laughed.

It turned out to be one of the younger kids birthday, so desert was a large chocolate cake with candles generously donated by Boom-Boom. Unlike regular candles, that blew out, Boom-Boom just kept her detonations small and brief to the delight of the young green haired girl. Apparently she enjoyed explosions, but couldn't create them herself.

Gambit laughed when the girl whispered something in his ear.

"I dunno petite, you'd haft ta ask Wolvie der," he nodded over to Logan, who scowled at the Cajun, but softened his expression for the girl.

"Is the fight going to be with or without powers?" she squeaked.

"Start off with none, just so I know how much I have to catch him up with you all, but if you want an exhibition match…"

"Sounds fine to me," Malachi shrugged. "Don't see why not."

* * *

Malachi found himself in a large white room, blinking at the emptiness and wrinkling his nose at the cold, sterile scent. Gambit twitched, settling his shoulders in his long overcoat, and pulled his hair back with a black bandana to keep it out of his eyes. Malachi looked up at the window set high in the wall and asked the group sitting there if they were comfortable.

"Extremely, just remember, no powers to start with," Storm smirked.

"I do need to use a little if you want me to have a weapon," he pointed out, pulling a metal stick from his back pocket.

"Go ahead, then settle your stance," Logan nodded.

Both boys nodded back, then faced each other, with slightly different grips on their weapons. Both had one hand holding the staff with their palms turned in, but Malachi let the end of his rest on the floor, his left hand covering the top end while Gambit had his right hand and left hand at pretty much equal distance, his right with his palm out toward his opponent. They both looked comfortable, still and ready for just about anything.

Without a notable warning Malachi yanked his left hand down, sweeping the bo toward Gambit in a wide angle, which was blocked before it hit the leg with a quick clack of metal on metal. Twisting around Gambit twirled his staff, hoping for a shoulder hit while Malachi recovered. But the shorter boy ducked under and shot out his foot, still going for Gambits legs. Gambit jumped over the kick, bringing his staff around his back to block the sweep that followed Malachi's quick yank to attack while Gambit was unable to duck.

The group in the observatory room watched with (mostly) amazement. Neither one of the boys was moving from a ten foot radius, basically just twisting around their own (or the others) bodies, trying to make hits while their staffs clanged like extra limbs, or just extensions of the ones they already had. Logan watched with glaring eyes, catching each movement, each expression the kids made. He was going to have fun training these two; he was intrigued by the fact that neither boy seemed to settle in one style. They had correct stances for many martial arts, but also seemed to have something of an acrobatics background. That wasn't so surprising, he supposed, for the thief. But the fact that Malachi was matching the Cajun almost blow for blow, was impressive.

Of course, each couldn't block everything, Malachi was breathing harder than he thought he'd be, playing like this without the constant distraction his mutation lorded over an opponent, and he was a little disconcerted that he'd come to rely so much on it. Like when that ice-kid had frozen his bo, he'd found that more than a little frightening. He could feel the bruises beginning to form on the surface of his skin, on the back of his left shoulder as Gambit whacked him hard, on his thigh where he'd mule kicked behind him at one point.

Gambit was clearly having fun. He flipped over the shorter boy and trailed his hand on the back of Malachi's neck, making it clear he could have knocked the other out if he'd gotten bored with the fight. He chuckled at the younger ones growl, but put up his guard as well. He remembered his trainer's chuckles, and his own reaction to them. It was clear that Malachi hadn't had just one master, because he still got frustrated when he couldn't clear a maneuver he'd obviously seen somewhere before. Gambit had had extensive training, and he'd never been allowed to go from one thing to another until the first had been mastered. So while Gambit had been disciplined, but kept his flexible mind (a thief that couldn't be flexible was a thief in jail), Malachi had picked up his training himself, but was unable to flow from some pretty impressive movements to the relatively simple follow-through. He probably hadn't had much opportunity to practice.

"You do good, Petite," Gambit commented as he felt a swipe come to close to his side. He managed to twirl a good ways away, and brought up his staff to clang with Malachi's.

"If you start calling me that all the time, I will find a way to end you," Malachi promised with a grin.

"Logan!" Gambit called up to the booth, "Me fren here an I would lak to up de stakes?"

"Go ahead and use powers at my mark," Logan hit the button for the protective coating on the window pane and watched as it settled in place. "Now!"

Malachi grinned as he lengthened his staff in high speed, the end rudely poking Gambit in the side. Gambit pulled away and ducked under the staff, his own shortening into itself with mechanical clinks as he put it away under his jacket. He pulled a playing card from up his sleeve and grinned maniacally as Malachi pulled his wood staff from his back pocket and enlarged it until he had two full sized _rokushakubō, _which looked slightly odd seeing as how the almost six foot staffs where at least seven inches taller than their wielder.

"How d'you plan on us'in dose?" Gambit asked, knowing that Malachi couldn't swing them at full power without knocking them into each other constantly. He should have known better to ask that, and was greeted with the answer almost immediately as he flung a charged card at his new friends head.

It imploded on impact with the wooden staff, which splintered at the end, but mended itself almost immediately. Malachi was alternating the lengths and thickness of his staffs as he twirled them in a defensive shielding. Each time a playing card managed to shorten the staffs even a little it was always the thinnest end part that detonated. He was trying to find the pattern that would let him sneak an attack when Malachi shifted his hip, weight balanced down his leg and _pulled _the ground back with his foot. Gambit would have fallen into a small pit if his own instincts hadn't insisted he jump forward, toward the suddenly still staffs. He had an alarming view of Malachi's one white eye, and gasped for breath, feeling that same _pull_ again. Before he had time to think Malachi's wooden staff was under his chin, and he was plainly asking for surrender.

Both boys were covered in sweat, but while Gambit felt he could probably go a little longer, it was clear the younger was exhausted. So in Malachi's best interest, and honestly still a little short of breath, he held up his hands to end the duel. When Malachi backed up Gambit rubbed the heel of his hand across his heart and took a deep breath in.

"You ok?" Malachi asked, a little apprehensive. Manipulating air like that was a trick he'd only figured out recently, and he was more than a bit worried about how it affected others.

"Yeah, you gone to?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine after some hefty pain killers and a good dirt nap." Malachi sat on the white floor a little hard as the door opened to emit the large blue man with glasses and Logan.

"All right kid, this is Dr. McCoy, he patches us up after fun time. Go on with him, and then it's to bed. Don't want you burning out on your first day." He grunted.

"Cool, um, did you get enough to place me somewhere?" Malachi asked, suddenly nervous. He knew he held his own, but he also knew the older boy was taking it easy on him.

"I think we're going to have Gambit training you a bit more in staff," Logan said as he helped Malachi to his feet. Gambit nodded to agree, "And we'll set up some danger room sessions to help find your limit with taking things apart. All in all, you did ok kid."

"Yes, I was rather taken with that last technique," McCoy smiled gently, well aware that his large frame was somewhat intimidating.

"I just _push_ stuff. So one day I was thinking, air is stuff…" Malachi shrugged as the other's laughed, and blushed a bit. It had been a sudden epiphany, and he'd nearly suffocated when he concentrated and _pushed_ the air from his own lungs, thinking maybe he could create like a miniaturized hurricane from his mouth. That was when he realized that maybe he didn't have large enough lungs for a hurricane.

**

* * *

**

"Air is stuff?" Remy asked, later as they were dressing for bed.

"It is," Malachi replied, a bit defensively.

"Agreed," the elder chuckled as he plopped down on his bed and looked over at Malachi, who was pulling a large tee over his skinny shoulders.

Never one to make an insensitive comment; at least not on purpose (at least to a friend), Remy didn't mention the large diagonal scar that traveled from the younger teens left shoulder blade to his right hip.

"It's an old scar," Malachi sighed, feeling the questioning gaze.

"D'you wanna talk?" Remy asked, tucking his hands behind his head, his eyes steady on Malachi's scar.

"My Step-father didn't like me. He made it quite clear, when he married my mother; that he wasn't going to coddle me, he wasn't going to hold back on discipline… My mother took his side." He shrugged, quietly upset but pretending not to be. "She wasn't even that great of a mother before Tom, but afterwards it was like she didn't care about me at all." He got into bed and reached over to click off the light on the nightstand between the two beds. "Tom and I had a fight, he sliced me up and kicked me out, and she took his side again."

"Harsh," Remy replied, knowing that nothing he said could change the circumstances, nothing he said could make Malachi feel better about his situation.

"I was eleven; then Howl found me. She was a better mother."

"Seems like we both haf better Ma'mere dan originally planned for," Remy admitted in turn. "I was 'bandoned, for my eyes, Devils eyes. Jean-Luc took me in, an 'is mere spoilt me rotten." The only color that Malachi could see was the bright red orbs set in Remy's pitch black eyes.

"I like your eyes. They're unique." Malachi offered as he turned to face Remy, settling his blanket over his shoulder. The dead white eye seemed to swallow the moon light coming from the window.

"Tanks lil' one." He smiled a bit, thinking that just maybe, this one knew what he was talking about.

"Welcome, Remy, goodnight."

"G'night Petite," the smirk clearly audible.

"Bite me," as was the answering grin.

**

* * *

**Remy discovered, much to Malachi's chagrin, that it was quite easy to make the younger blush. Being the oldest of Howls pack, the oldest male by five years, he'd never had the opportunity to really talk about girls. Remy was apparently an expert.

"How do you know so much?" Malachi whined as he fought down his hot cheeks. Remy had just been giving him some advice since he caught Malachi watching Kitty and Piotr snuggling on the couch with an intense interest.

"Am married," Remy shrugged at the incredulous stare. "As far as I know, anyhow. Never goda divorce decree, I tink."

"You're MARRIED?" the shout echoed through the suddenly silent library. Then the quieter, indignant, "How can you not know if you got a divorce? Doesn't that kind of thing require your participation?"

"It coulda been annulled, Petite, I kind o' had ta skip town af'ter de wedding." Remy relaxed back into his seat, well aware that every ear in the library was straining to hear. This was something he'd never mentioned before.

"So you never… Um…" Christ, but the kids blush was a sight to see. His already speckled red skin almost glowed in embarrassment.

"It's not dat I'd never, it just dat I'd never wit my wife…" And to tell the truth, he was somewhat bitterly disappointed about that. He'd loved Bella, as much as he was able to, he supposed.

"Why'd you…" Malachi trailed off, aware that he might be stepping into some unwelcoming territory.

"Naw, 'tis okay. Her broder challenged me ta duel. T'was an accident, but de Guild, it t'reatened retribution. Xavier offered me a chance to gain control over ma powers. Causing random explosions was not ideal for a t'eaf of my renowned reputation. Non. T'was decided."

"Guild?" Malachi narrowed in on that, not wanting to know what kind of "accident" might have caused his friend to flee.

"Assassins," Remy threw out, with a negligent shrug, as if it were no big deal.

"The ASSASSINS Guild is after you?" Once again heads were turned, as more and more people tried to blatantly eavesdrop.

"Not right now!" Remy glared at those closest to them, then grabbed Malachi's arm in a bruising grip to drag him from the library.

"Sorry!" Malachi stuttered out as his roommate hauled him away. Absently he noted that Remy was crying, his shoulders shaking, he could hear the repressed sobs. He immediately felt horrible. He really was terrible at this concern/care thing. The silver ring on his finger was warm and trembling. He wondered why Mackie was laughing. He wondered right up until Remy threw him into an empty classroom and the Cajun started bawling in laughter.

Remy hadn't been holding back tears; he'd been suppressing his own hilarity. Apparently he enjoyed being infamous around campus. Nobody else had gotten that much information from him since he'd shown up on the doorstep with a rucksack and a charming smile six months before.

"You're an ass." Malachi managed before succumbing to his own chuckles.

As they calmed down Malachi managed to get more of the story from his roommate. Remy had been "Prince" of the Thief's Guild, married off to the "Princess" of the Assassins. Right after the ceremony her brother had challenged Remy to a duel, during which Gambit had become upset and exploded a wall accidentally. The brother had been buried under the rubble and the Thief's Guild had sent Remy away to the school for his own safety. Apparently they'd been trying to convince him to go for quite some time, but he'd never believed his own gift could so completely betray him. After the incident he realized that it wasn't a gift. It was a talent, and it needed to be trained, honed, for him to use it properly.

Of course now that the half heard conversation had been witnessed by some of the most irrepressible gossips in the school it was going to be impossible to separate fact from their own imaginations.

Remy was tricky like that.

**

* * *

**

Authors Notes

We're still kinda stuck on the opening aren't we? But we've got characters, both major and minor (and I spent a hell of a lot of time on line looking up pasts and characters and who would fit with what, where. This is faithfully following the three Xmen movies, as Xavier, Jean, and Scott are all dead (or in the case of Xavier, in a different mans body in a coma still.) which is wonderful for me because I have no clue how to write them. Rogue is pretty much taxing my, I-have-no-clue-how-to-handle-this-character allotment for the year. And Remy's accent is HARD. I've taken to looking up how other writers and even comic writers do a Cajun accent… by the way, lackadaisycats is a comic that everyone should read. Just add a www to the start of that and a .com to the end. So basically anything that is a th followed by an I starts with T', anything that is a th followed by anyother vowel is a "d" sound. Short, clipped consonants, and if you can somehow sound as if all your words are hooked together by an ultrasexy smirk, you've got Cajun down solid. I tried, but I'm not sure how well I managed.

Logans car at the start of this chapter is the Metallicar… I just love that thing, and if Logan's got to drive a regular car, at least this one won't threaten his masculinity. I tried picturing him driving a Prius and it just wasn't working for me. (don't ask, loooong story)

Still not sure what the main conflict is, but it will probably rear it's ugly head in the next chapter or two. I'm not planning a lot of chapters for this story. ("But what you plan and what takes place ain't ever exactly been similar." Thank you Jayne)

I did use a line from "The Producers", seeing as how Malachi grew up in New York I'm assuming he was sneaky enough to get into Broadway plays whenever he felt like it. So I think that not only is he a cynical bastard, he likes to quip from various sources. Which is kinda funny when you think about it, because I don't think he's watched a lot of tv in the past five-ish years. So a lot of jokes are going to go over his head… you'll see what I mean eventually.


End file.
